Time Does Not Heal All Wounds Or Extinguish Old Flames
by CarsasaAllakay
Summary: It's been 5 years since the Liars graduated high school, they're 23, happy and healthy. When they encounter people from their past, will it stay that way?
1. Prologue

**_Time Does Not Heal All Wounds...Or Extinguish Old Flames_**

**_Prologue _**

**_Hanna_**

"Hanna." His voice, the tone in which he speaks, is a low rumble, possessing an easy discursiveness. That first syllable of her name is said with an air of surprise, happiness: what resembles hope. The last one is concupiscent, gruff, catching her slightly off guard.

"Caleb." It's different for her, saying his name. It comes out in one breath, and what she feels upon seeing him, upon saying it, is something akin to shock infused with an immediate weariness. It has been a long time since she's seen him, or spoke of him for that matter; the small movement her mouth makes as she again utters his name -unbelieving that he is really there - is a contortion of unfamiliarity, a dance to which she has forgotten all the steps.  
"Caleb."

He sighs, and when he does so expelling from his lips is a heavy breath, inadvertently becoming crystallized in the blistering winter's air. "Hanna," he speaks again, as if she hadn't heard the first time; elongating her name into a multisyllabic slur.

A transformative silence supersedes all that has been said, whisking it all away with a sudden whoosh of the chilly air; the snowflakes picking up speed, rushing together and slamming against the identical chap of their lips.

* * *

_**Aria**_

"Aria!" It was the causality that prompted her to turn her head, and it was only when she spied the source of the disembodied voice as it reverberated through the New York City crowds, she allowed a smile. A wide grin stretched across her face, as she stopped abruptly at the lip of the sidewalk. There was confusion and annoyance amongst the commonality; people shoving and pushing, necessitating epithets spewing in her general direction as they tried to get past. She didn't apologize, barely registering their ire in her euphoric state.  
He was here.

"Ezra," she whispered, biting her bottom lip in anticipation. The red of her lipstick was smeared where her front teeth had lain but she paid no mind, for he was now standing directly in front of her. Without any other form of acknowledgement, he took her in his arms. "Ezra." Her sibilant whisper was lost in the breeze, taken up into the wispy curlicues of the barren, frost bitten trees.

* * *

**_Spencer_**

"Spencer..." He was rather uncertain as he appraised the woman that sat in front of him: thick hair pinned into a sleek topknot, aiding the accentuation of her sharp, pointed features. The phone clamped to her ear as she put a prim, pale finger in the air, gated his curiosity into the space between them, maintaining a visible presence as he waited.

In his itchy orange jump suit, he gazed at her with such intrinsic longing, and when she finally hung up her cell and met his eyes, she blushed; finding such startling normalcy in his unabashed revering.

"I'm going to help you," was her answer, as if it can make clean all his wrongdoings and rid him of this perpetual guilt. She spoke through the transparency of the glass, her voice echoing the lost gumption of lawyers past - the ones who never fulfilled their promises of his salvation. She was different though, he knew, and this time, the certainty, the aplomb her tone possessed, was going to be enough. It was, unlike the others beforehand, the lilting key to set him free.

He pressed his hand tenderly to the barricade separating them, and she, as a nonlinguistic signification of their love, did the same.  
"I promise Tobes..."

* * *

_**Emily**_

"Maya." It was as if the innate companionship between inhalation and exhalation had been brutally severed. Her  
breath caught; the oxygen deviating from the mundane cycle as it hung in the air- not yet retained, and her face immediately obtained a ghostly hue. The beating of her heart became languid, just about stopping altogether.

"Emily, breathe."

She sputtered and coughed, finally taking the breath that was long overdue, and keeled over with sudden duress.

"I-I-I-" she attempted to speak, although to no avail as she struggled in her weakened state.

"Sh.. I'll explain in due time, my sweet, no rush."

Emily took a disliking to her, apparently resurrected, girlfriend's tone. She talked down to her, as if Emily were a baby: incapable of understanding such emotional trauma. In truth, she was, but there was no needing to let Maya know.

"How...?"

She let her inquisition falter, having no energy to formulate the rest of her wonderings.

Maya smiled with a boisterous glee, taken by her adorable confusion. "It's a long story, which I will tell as soon as I'm able."

With that said, she reached into the left pocket of her hoody and produced a joint, deftly placing it upon her lips and taking a heavy drag, a destructive habit that she'd, evidently, not let go.

"You still do that?"

Maya paused mid-drag, and nodded, letting the toxins fade into the air within a lengthy breath.

"You told me you'd quit before you... Before you..." She couldn't get the words out.

Again, Maya nodded, the smoke making a distorted shadow that placated itself along her grave expression: her surly frown, sunken cheeks, and steely eyes-features that exploited her drug use.

"Sometimes, Em, people lie for the good of their loved ones. Of all people you should understand."

Her tone was surprisingly light, opposite of what it had been upon her entrance moments before.

"Yeah, well, it's been awhile. You don't really know me anymore."

"You don't know me anymore." Her emulation of Emily was spot-on as her mouth emitted a throaty cackle. "Right."

* * *

**_Author's Note : Don't worry, there's more to come. :) Rand R (Read and _****_Review) _**


	2. Chapter 1

___**Author's Note: Here is Chapter 1! The prologue takes place a month after the other chapters.**_

_**December**_

_**Hanna**_

The faintest line of sunlight graced the youthful flush of the child's cheeks, its slanted directionality brightening her golden locks as they splayed around her pale visage, making her look somewhat angelic - just like the one she was currently making in the otherwise untouched snow.

"Mommy, come lay with me! My angel needs a mommy too! Hurry up, the snow is gonna melt! Hurry, hurry!"

Hanna laughed at her daughter's exuberance, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited from herself, although, at times like these especially, her frenetic personality was quite taxing.

As her daughter continued to beckon her mother with grandiose hand gestures, without a vestige of yelling and screaming, Hanna acknowledged her efforts with a weak smile and tired sigh.

She had barely gotten any sleep the night before, having finished night school at an ungodly hour. Soon after - what felt like a few mere minutes - interrupting the sleep she did get, a squeal of excitement pierced the air, juxtaposed with the sunrise of the early morning.

"It's snowing!"

It was Paisley, standing at the threshold of the opened door, staring intently at the big flakes whirling around her bare feet - as if she couldn't believe it. "Paisley, sweetie please shut the door, you're letting all the cold air in. And I don't want you catching a cold." Paisley did as she was told, but not before a rapid-fire interrogation.

Why would I catch a cold?  
Can we go play in it?  
Isn't it pretty?  
I want blueberry pancakes for breakfast, can we make some? Ooh, maybe some orange juice too...would it taste gross if I dipped the pancake in it?  
Maybe Sparkles would eat it? Can she play in the snow too?

Hanna laughed, "yes, to all of them. Now close the door Pais."

After a filling breakfast of blueberry pancakes - extra syrup for Paisley - her and Hanna went to suit up in their snowsuits and and other winter attire - the last being the earmuffs pulled snugly over the girl's petite ears a minute or so later. "Ready!" she announced, clapping her glove-encased hands together with an air of finality.

The two jaunted into the backyard, through the back door, and as soon as Paisley had gotten bored with attempting to catch falling flakes atop her tongue, she had flopped down with the grace of a basset hound after a long walk, and positioned herself as to make a snow angel: moving her arms first, then her legs, until they were a simultaneity of careful movements.

"Come on mommy!"

Hanna smiled, standing by the door they'd just come out of not five minutes ago, and only watched, amazed that her juvenile liking for snow angels has yet to give way to tobogganing or snow-tubing, much like other kids her age. Even if she was only five, it still came as a surprise to her. Hanna was a thrill-seeker and had fully expected her daughter to be the same. At this age, Hanna had been an experienced tobogganer and tuber alike, winning all the races she and her friends insisted on having every year when the snowfall hit.

Now, Paisley seemed to be getting fed up, rising to her full height and running across the yard to where her mother stood, "come play with me!" she was saying; the bits of hair flying into her mouth as she did so seemingly not bothersome, nor was the cold, apparently, as the earmuffs too, came off in her fervor.

Paisley reached her mother in seconds, although, having ran across the yard, her breaths were now labored; the conspicuous chill emitting from her lips synonymous to Hanna's, as were the reddened ears.

"Okay baby, put your earmuffs back on," Hanna told her, going to pick up the fallen article from the snow on which she walked, littered with footprints. She held them out to her.

"No mommy," Paisley rejected, pushing the muffs towards Hanna instead. "You put them on. You look cold!" The little girl pantomimed for exaggerated effect, pretending to shiver.

"Now you look cold!" Hanna chuckled, and placed the earmuffs delicately over her daughter's ears without waiting for a response.

Paisley hadn't seemed to take notice, too busy now anticipating another snow angel as she tugged on her mommy's hand. "Angel now!"

Hanna laughed and scooped up her unsuspecting daughter in her arms. "Mommy put me down!" she whined, flailing about in her attempt to be free. "Okay, if that's what you really want!" Paisley nodded her head incessantly. "Ready?" she asked her, looking to Paisley for confirmation who simply nodded. "Yes! Yes!" With that, Hanna tossed her daughter, gently, into a heaping snow pile, cushy with layers upon layers of fresh snow. "Eeeh!" Paisley squalled as she flew, landing gracefully a second later. "Was that fun?" Hanna asked her, giggling despite herself. Paisley only nodded 'yes' accompanied with a half-hearted "uh-huh", as she looked to the snow, then her mommy and back again.

"Angel!" she cried again, as she started making yet another one - three already engraved in various parts of the yard. Paisley was also very persistent, which proved at times to be a hassle. Bedtime is a prime example.

"Oh alright," Hanna surrendered playfully, lying next to her daughter. "Can you show me how?" Paisley happily obliged and the two spent the rest of the afternoon in the snow, laughing and giggling all the while.

* * *

_**Author's Note: This is more of an introduction than first chapter... but oh well.. R and R ( Read and Review!)** _


	3. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note: Chapter 2! _**

* * *

**_Aria_**

When she looked out the plate-glass window overlooking the congested city streets, Aria was surprised to find that the heavy snow that blanketed the roads was no more; the gigantic flakes having tapered off, appearing only sporadically as the light of the moon began to wane. The warming temperature produced a light condensation, sluicing the fog ridden window and making the scenery glisten anew.

Looking down at the laptop perched on her knees, she felt particularly satisfied, finally attaching the document and hitting send.

It was nearing ten o'clock - she was able to make that conclusion with a single neck rotation - and reasoned that her boyfriend should be getting home in, give or take, half an hour, and be delighted - hopefully! - to find (a very late) dinner ready to eat. Aria found comfort in this, also that her pitch was finally completed, (it had taken the entire day) and pranced jovially out the door and down the couple flights of stairs: en-route to the Chinese place that just opened up a few blocks away from their apartment building.

* * *

"Jake," she greeted from her nook of fuzzy blankets and throw pillows, pressing pause on the movie she had been watching. "You're home." "That I am," he confirmed, placing his equipment bag on the ground in front of him before moving to kiss her hello.

"Hello," she quipped, giggling softly as he brushed his nose with hers in authentic Eskimo fashion.

"Dinner?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at the assortment of take out containers strewn across the coffee table fronting the sofa. At his girlfriend's affirmation, he asked a follow up question.

"Want me to get us plates?"

'No' she thought dismally. The memory of her and Ezra sitting Indian-style on the floor of his quaint one-bedroom apartment was suddenly very fresh. "I normally just eat out of the container, if that's okay?"

Aria could sense he didn't know what to say to that, as he uttered a lame "yeah" and shuffled to the kitchen to grab a plate for himself. She shook it off, grabbed the remote in her palm, snuggled deeper into the blankets with her chow mien, and pressed play.

Jake plopped down a second later and proceeded to snuggle into her side, smorgasbord of oriental foods moving slightly on his lap. "That looks good," he commented, having gotten none on his plate due to her hogging the entire container.

Aria nodded, mouth full of noodles. "Mhm."

"Can I have some?"

This caused Aria to sit up straight, the thoughts pertaining to the happenings of the Audrey Hepburn movie dissipating as forlorn rumination moved in.

Her and Ezra sharing Chinese snuggled in the depths of the blankets, close enough to feel the heat radiating off one another, while watching this very film.

The one Jake seemed to be so disinterested in, that he found trying to steal chow mien a better means of leisure.

"No!" Aria exclaimed, feeling oddly proprietary over something so measly as a box of noodles, as if somehow, letting him take some would give access to what she held so dear, and as much as she liked Jake, she couldn't bring herself to do so. In some ways it would be like a betrayal to the one she truly loved.

"Here, have the rest," she grumbled, shoving the container into his hands. "I'm going to bed," she added, with an equal air of hostility. "Goodnight." He was confused, she could tell, glad though, that he'd gotten the noodles as he shoveled them down his gullet in that piggish way she'd come to find very unattractive.

"Goodnight," was his verbal response, muted by the next forkful of noodles, as he began, completely oblivious to her mood, to watch the basketball game he'd turned the television to. She sighed emphatically, dragging her feet along the hallway until she reached the end: their shared bedroom.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Another short one, sorry... : ) (this smile is supposed to be sheepish) Ha Ha **_


	4. Chapter 3

___**Author's Note: here's Chapter 3!**_

_**Spencer**_

It was Saturday, a typical winter's evening, and in honoring their tradition - every Saturday is date night - the couple was content, having just finished a delicious meal accompanied by (only a few!) drinks at the nearby bar.

His hand rested easily in the palm of her own, their fingers intertwined, and every so often he would rub his thumb over hers- an oscillatory gesture that reminded her of a fan on a balmy summer day. 'Around, and around, and around'. If she focused on it, the effect was almost dizzying.

"I think I need to sit down," she remembered herself saying, suddenly feeling very, very drunk as the aftershocks of her excessive imbibing came forth. She wavered a bit on her stiletto heels - those that Hanna had let her borrow, or rather insisted she wear - and veered inadvertently towards the sidewalk. In her haste, she ripped her hand free from his and was immediately sent careening into the cement. The forceful impact caused her nose to bleed and, despite herself - emotions not yet in check - she began to cry. "This is so embarrassing!" she crooned, her woeful cries ricocheting off the midnight sky.

Andrew, well knowing that he shouldn't laugh, smirked at his wallowing girlfriend and extended his hand to her. She glowered as she accepted his help, leading him to believe his face had undoubtedly betrayed the covert laughter that emanated from his lips. "Don't laugh. It's not funny."

"Relax Spence, we've been dating well over a year, I think we've passed that stage. I can't be embarrassed by you no matter your actions," he assured, supporting her weight with his own.

"Even if I'm totally hammered!?" she yelled to the void, a few dog walkers stopping to stare in overt amusement. "Yes, even then," he answered bemusedly, leading her by the arm up their house's carport and unlocking the door, ushering her inside.

As Andrew turned to follow her in, she surprised him by sticking her head out the door, her hair a wild, frizzy, mess, some bobby pins knotted up in the nest. "Goodnight moon!" she trilled, blowing a kiss in its general direction. Andrew chuckled, shaking his head at her antics. "And goodnight Spencer," he whispered in her ear, making her giggle. "Goodnight Spencer!" she hissed, her tone mocking.

He gagged without meaning to, getting a whiff of something strong, the tequila, he decided. "Oh, Spence," he clucked with a slight air of comicality, "when I said 'drink away your pain' I didn't mean your liver baby."

Spencer just sighed dreamily in response. "Troll-lol-lol-lol-lol!" Andrew openly laughed a big hearty guffaw as she began dancing around the room in her inebriated state.

The two were in the living room now and sooner or later she was going to crash, but not before she receives the huge purple bruise that she won't, until her dying day, know the origin of.

Andrew chuckled, somewhat inappropriately, at the image of Spencer on her death bed- begging to know its history, where it came from, even though it wasn't even a taint on her flesh any longer, having seamlessly integrated into the ghost of injuries past.

_"Tell me!" she croaked, reaching out a translucent tissue of a hand. "Please!" Her other spindly hand grasped the collar of his shirt in desperation. "I need to know!" _  
_"It's from when you-" _

Suddenly, knocking him from his morbid daydream, there was a groan of agony as Spencer tripped on the chair, diving, with the inhabited grace of a swan on a morphine overdose, onto the floor. "Oomph. Spenc-y have a boo boo."

Again, Andrew laughed. "Yes, a boo boo indeed."

Spencer frowned, pulling herself up off the floor finally, after slipping three or four times in the process.

"Don't you laugh. You think this is funny, punk?"

She was looking at him head on now, lips a thin line as she pointed her finger gun at his chest.

Andrew put up his hands in surrender, willing to play along.

Although, now, Spencer had a different idea.

She pulled off her shirt first, then her pants, left now in her matching cashmere bra and panty set.

The glow from the T.V, that had been left on when they went to dinner, cast an eerie shadow along Spencer's prominent cheekbones and making the devious sparkle in her eyes - the physical representation of her drunken indomitability - that much brighter.

"Spencer, please, it's getting late, please put your clothes back on and come to bed."

Her boyfriend's plea for order only prompted her defiance when she took off running. "You can't catch me," she sing-songed, her actions similar to the way her niece fought her own bedtime.

By the time Andrew caught up to her, winded and sweaty, she was curled up in a ball atop the covers, the duvet on the floor in a heap and the sheets tangled around her like a grapevine of silk. Sound asleep, finally.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Drunk Spencer? Yes, No, maybe? :)** _


	5. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: Chapter 4! The chapter's will get longer soon, I promise. The girls are going to be going through things, both individually and alongside their significant others. You'll see this as the story continues. :)  
**_

* * *

_**  
Spencer**_

The clock that hung on the wall tracked the passing seconds in metronomic harmony with her heavy breaths. It was ten o'clock on the nose; according to the halted movements of both the hour and second hand, with the telltale sign of morning, the pale winter's sun, shining brightly.

Spencer groaned as the harsh rays pierced her eyes, the light dancing with iridescence along her closed lids. "It burns," she murmured subconsciously, slowly opening her eyes in a lethargic greeting to reality.

Weaving her fingers through her stressed knots, Spencer sighed, reaching for the note she found perched on its fold at the corner of the nightstand. Closing her fist around the paper, she collapsed instantly back onto the bed. As if that simple action drained all of her energy, leaving her, despite the however many hours of deep, dreamless, sleep, newly spent.

_**Tequila makes your clothes come off. Not that I'm complaining ;) Brave the pain, baby. Oh, remember you have to watch Paisley today, they'll be coming around ten. Love you, xoxo **_  
_**Andrew **_

It was only after reading, that Spencer realized that it was true, and she really didn't have any clothes on. Instinctually, she wrapped the tangled sheet over herself, tucking it under her chin.

In the minute that followed, completely silent save for her own steady breaths, she fought to gain a vivid recollection of last night's events. This she knew, wasn't apt; for her brain was still buried under a haze of stale alcohol and dried sweat.

In the midst of her pondering, she was becoming acutely aware of another sound: soft breaths, in tandem with her own. "Auntie Spencer?" came a small voice.

Paisley, Hanna's little girl, was standing patiently at her bedside and holding a tray of some sort. "Mommy said this would help you feel better. Are you sick?"

Spencer paused before answering, though not long enough to arise suspicions, as she conjured up an appropriate reply.

"I'm-" A severe dizzy spell enveloped her suddenly as she swayed - back and forth, back and forth, taking her first answer of 'fine' and making it 'yes.' Even after the dizziness subsided, the pounding headache left in its wake was almost too much to bare and before she could stop herself, she reflexively leaned forward, retching bile, luckily, into the bowl sitting on the nightstand.

Paisley recoiled, taking a giant leap from her previous position as if hot coals littered the ground she'd stood on. She chucked the tray of food onto the bed, not minding its descent, and ran out of the room, screaming "Mommy, Spenc-y sick!"

A minute or so later, Paisley came bounding up the steps again, and if the echoing footfalls were any indication, her mother followed close behind.

"Spence, wow, you look..." Hanna paused abruptly, turning her head to look behind her at her daughter, who was hot on her heels. In this time, Spencer had picked up a hash brown from the tray, nibbling cautiously. Hanna leaned in closer to her, blonde hair caressing ruddy cheek - evidence of the alcohol that's still in her system. "You look like shit."

Spencer barely flinched, not taking offense to the bluntness of the truth. "I know. I feel like it too." She placed the half-eaten hash brown back onto the tray, her appetite showing no signs of replenishing anytime soon. Her fingers were shiny, greasy remnants acting as a reflector as she studied her appearance.

"Damn," she murmured, seeing herself for the first time since waking. Dried drool rounded her mouth. A cultivation of sleep bogged down her bleary eyes. Makeup residue was plastered around her eyes and mascara (tears?) streaked her cheeks. No amount of scrubbing could remove it, any of it, and Spencer groaned in defeat. Grabbing the towel hanging off of the master bathroom's door, Hanna chucked it in her direction, rolling her eyes. "Sober up Spence. I'm taking Paisley to Emily's, I think she said something about being home all day, screening résumés or something."

Spencer took the towel and attempted to stand, grabbing onto the bed rail for support, griping about another dizzy spell. "Ugh, I'm never drinking again. Han, I think that means she's working, only from home instead of her office at the station. Which means that she's busy all the same."

Hanna said nothing, just took Paisley's hand in her own and sighed. "Well I'm not leaving my little girl here alone with you in this state. Maybe I'll just take her with us. My obstetrician said this was just quick, Xray and done. But we get to hear the baby's heartbeat! I'm so excited!"

Spencer attempted a smile for her friend and obliged. "See you two soon, I hope."

She ruffled Paisley's hair, and moved in to give Hanna a hug. "Oh no!" Hanna protested, putting her hands out in attempt to stop the physical contact, "not until you've showered. You reek Spence, seriously."

Once Hanna and her daughter left, after Spencer had a shower and taken the maximum amount of Advil capsules she was able, she crawled back into bed. She slept for the rest the day, only getting up when Andrew summoned her to the kitchen for dinner, feeling that the hangover had finally passed.

* * *

  
_**Author's Note: Any thoughts on Hanna's baby? Is it a boy or a girl? Or is it... something else...** _


	6. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: Another chapter!  
**_

* * *

_**Hanna**_

A miscarriage.

Hanna remained silent the entire way home, the music playing at low volume doing nothing to rouse emotion, any emotion - anger, sadness, denial - she was having none of it. Sitting in the passenger seat, her entire being was still, statuesque.

Outside the window, the weather was sunny and bright, unaware of its defining pathetic fallacy.

As Hanna continued to mindlessly stare at the unfolding landscape, the sunshine fell upon her face, illuminating her azure eyes; those that had lost their usual luster and were now cold and hard, almost dead.

Not understanding, nor affected by, the circumstance, Paisley, in her car seat, chattered to herself: piddling, juvenile things bubbling from her parted rosebud lips.

* * *

"Fuck!" Hanna screamed at random, throwing down the wooden spoon she had been using. She had been doing an innocent act - making dinner for her family - when suddenly, she just...snapped.

It came as a surprise to even her, as she stared aghast at the splattered tomato sauce on the floor and her shirt, and promptly burst into tears.

"It's not fair! Not fair! Not fair! Not fair... Not fair..."

Her vociferations became repetitive mumblings as she began to exhaust herself, the copious tears paving way down her cheeks and moistening her skin, as she lay there, on her knees, grieving.

Grieving a loss she never really knew, yet felt connected to just the same.

"To however let this happen to my baby girl: I'm going to kick your ass!" Her threat was blusterous, and she knew this, but still, it had to be said.

It's been a week. One week during which her family - she'd refused to see or talk to her friends during this time, lest she become unhinged - was forced to walk on eggshells around her, talk in hushed whispers and sidelong glances.

For the first few days after the couple received the news, Hanna was in shock, clinically diagnosed on day three of her stark silence. Travis, lovingly devoted Travis, had suggested she visit a grief counselor, and/or therapist. She'd agreed, having no energy to fight it, and her mother booked an appointment with Dr. Sullivan, who said that Hanna could come in right away, that a spot had just opened up.

The doctor had advised, on her first visit and each one after, that Hanna had to let herself feel, and closing herself off from everyone and everything around her wasn't going to accomplish anything. Hanna was skeptical, just as she was all those years ago, but told her that she would try, and the doctor had said that was all she could ask.

Now, five days into her therapy, Hanna was finally, after so much internal battle, letting herself feel, feel a shackling sadness and anger.

She continued to scream, vehemence lacing every word, every syllable. "Fuck you!" she cried, her throat horse and sore. "Fuck you!"

She collapsed to the ground, laying flat on her back, and aggressively heaved, shutting her eyes tight as she bucked forward, spewing the contents of her stomach.

The bilious hue her face adorned made her cheeks, sunken and hallow, appear almost nonexistent. She looked sick, waning, there on the kitchen floor, covered in vomit and sauce.

"I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this." Hanna repeated this over and over, and soon, as she rocked back and forth on her knees, this became an eerie mantra. Oh how she wished it was postpartum depression, meaning she would actually be in possession of her baby to raise.

But no, she was, according to Dr. Sullivan, only going through the five stages of grief: denial, sadness, anger...

"Screw the stages, they're useless, a pitiful excuse to go AWOL." Hanna thought bitterly, miraculously finding the strength to pick herself up off the floor and clean up the mess.

An hour later, Travis and Paisley arrived home - Paisley having just come from a friend's house and Travis from work.

"How are you Hanna?" Travis asked later that night, after they'd put their daughter to bed. "Really."

Hanna sighed, mentally and physically exhausted. She had thought multiple times about telling him what had happened when he was gone, the real reason they'd ended up ordering pizza instead of having the spaghetti and meatballs Hanna was in the midst of preparing.

"I'm," she took a deep, cleansing breath, as instructed by Sullivan when she felt the grief rising, and continued. "Getting better, I think." Travis smiled. "That's good to hear sweetheart," he said, kissing her lightly on top of her head.

_"He bought it,"_ she thought, and for that, she was thankful, able to fully exhale. "I'm going to bed." "I'll come with you," he told her, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Poor Hanna! Are she and Travis going to survive this? She's lying to him already... that can't be good...** _


	7. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: Chapter 5!  
**_

* * *

_**Emily**_

Everything in her line of vision was blurring together, like the answer to those annoying questions empirical shrinks are so fond of asking.

_'Who do you think made you this way?' 'Who are you afraid of?' 'Why?' _

There was only one answer, to each and every question, one she could never reveal.

_' A' _

She could distinctly remember herself sitting on that love seat, rendered mute by those to which she could provide no answer; the concerned, yet curious look in Dr. Sullivan's eyes_. "I can help you," she'd always said, "but only if you let me._"

_"No,"_ Emily'd thought, _"you really can't. He/she/it... is unstoppable." _

Shaking her head, Emily sighed, shutting her mind off from any further thoughts circling this particular melodrama. She pressed on, the rhythmic thunking of her sneakers acting as a temporary solace, any other zany thought quickly sequestered by the sound.

Running often times helped clear her head, and on this particular day it was no different. Her thoughts now, instead of what they had been prior - dreams of the haunted 'A' times - only concerned her puppy, Bailey, and how she was pulling quite aggressively on her leash in attempts to sniff the bypassing dog. The owner - a petite brunette with a gymnast build - shot Emily an apologetic shrug as her tugging efforts quickly surpassed those of the tiny Maltese and they carried on down the road. Bailey watched them go, her tail wagging, as Emily softly pulled on the leash again. "Come on now Bail, let's go." The dog obeyed, trotting after her owner as she picked up speed again. Her sprint that she started with was now reduced to a light jog, as she turned the corner towards her apartment building, one that, luckily, allowed pets.

The morning dew had gained a luminescence in the emerging afternoon sun, dripping delicately off the sharp blades of grass: a photographer's dream.

Emily continued up the block, soon reaching the building and going in through the underground parking.

* * *

"Travis? What are you doing here?" The man looked momentarily startled, running his hand awkwardly over his buzz cut. The two were standing face to face in the apartment's entryway, unsure how to proceeded. As the silence slowly elongated, Travis now picking at his overgrown stubble, Emily bent down to let Bailey loose. The labradoodle went immediately to the couch, curling up in the middle.

"I-" Travis began, although he was quickly interrupted. "Em! you're home!" Hanna strutted into the room, wrapping her arms around her friend after kissing her fiancé primly on the cheek. "Paisley's in the kitchen, probably making a mess by now, can you go keep an eye on her? I need to talk to Emily." Travis nodded, looking relieved to have escaped the conversation. Once the women broke apart, the redness in her friend's eyes, that Emily failed to notice before, was wet with the tears that had collected along her sclera. Her physicality too, changed suddenly. With her shoulder's slumped and crumpled expression, her entire body looked frail. "Han, what's wrong?" Emily guided her to the couch, nudging a lazed Bailey off as she did so and sat in the space once occupied. Hanna sat across from her, taking deep, successive breaths as Emily grabbed her hands, forgetting momentarily to ream her out for not calling in over a week. "You can tell me anything Han, you've always known that." Hanna nodded, swallowing, once, twice, three times, before speaking. "I had a miscarriage."

An audible gasp escaped her.

At that moment, the air seemed heavier, becoming suddenly a weapon of mass destruction, with Emily unable to take in a proper breath. It seemed as if it too, was grief stricken, ostensibly in mourning, hanging low around them.

"Hanna," she breathed after a beat, "I'm so, so, sorry."

Hanna found out she was pregnant in August of this year, her and Travis both elated. She hadn't wasted a minute, right away making announcements on a fancy computer program and presenting them to the girls - Aria, Spencer and Emily - at their annual dinner party.

Hanna fell into Emily's embrace, crying silent tears. Emily pushed her friend softly, holding her at arms length. The tears peppered her cheeks, like stars in the settled moonlight.

"Oh Han," it's okay, you can try again." This hadn't done anything to sooth the distraught blonde however, as she ignored the tears and wrung her hands in distress. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be," she murmured, her voice wet as another chocked sob grabbed ahold of her throat, cutting off speech.

"Don't say that Hanna," Emily whispered, wiping at the fallen tears with the pad of her thumb and stroking her hair. "That doesn't work," Hanna moped, referring to the presumably soothing gesture.

"Travis was doing it last night, trying to coax me into a sleep that wouldn't come. He stayed up all night with me, telling me things like 'we'll try again' and how lucky we are now to have a heathy, happy, daughter in our lives to begin with.'"

"You ARE lucky, Paisley's even luckier to have you two as parents."

"Yeah, I know but Em, Paisley's turning five in a few, short weeks. FIVE. I can't believe it."

Emily couldn't either, it's amazing how time flies. She didn't say that though, couldn't. Instead, she said: "She's not going anywhere any time soon."

"But I wanted so badly for her to have a sibling, before the age gap was just too large. This is the perfect time. You don't understand Em. When Travis and I found out, she was with us. You wanna know what she said? She said, she couldn't wait to be a big sister. She said she would help change the baby's diapers, and play dollies with her. She couldn't wait to do all those things. "Mommy, I'm gonna be just like you and care for her and love her every minute of every day, like you do to me," she told me one night, snuggled deep within the covers. We even had her name picked out, Emily. Abigail. Abigail Meghan. Abby for short."

Emily didn't know what to say, just rubbed her back in soothing circles. "I'm so very sorry."

She knew though, upon saying it, that the words were not enough, would never be. There's an empty void in Hanna's heart now, one that may never be filled. And Emily couldn't help but think, although maybe it was  
just an old reflex, that A had something to do with it.

That thought left just as quickly as it appeared, what with Hanna stifling another loud sob next to her.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Uh Oh! Is 'A" back?** **Did they have something to do with this? Or is Emily just being irrational?** _


	8. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note: Another Chapter! Things are getting interesting!  
**_

* * *

_**Aria** __**  
**_  
"No, Em, I know -"

"Hun, that's...you're acting crazy."

"I can't shake it though, Aria. I feel that somehow, somewhere, A is out there, back on the prowl, and is targeting Hanna first. That she/he/it has something to do with this, this tragedy. Then it's me... You... Spencer..."

Emily's voice carried through the phone, the petite tremors in such vocalizations showing her heightening fear, as Aria sighed with slight exasperation.

"Listen Em, you have to understand something: A, whoever it was, is not here anymore. They're gone. It's over."

There was a rustle and what sounded like a muffled cry on the other end of the line as Emily responded. "I don't know about that, Aria, I just don't know."

Emily was having trouble coming to terms with the termination of their adolescent stalker.

She failed to understand that A's vindictiveness has become languished, due to the people part of the so-called 'team' being put behind bars. Those hoodies were washed clean of their malice and are now piled high at a Goodwill, priced at five fifty each.

Aria had, unlike her friend, made peace with it, living life now, how it was meant to be lived. Only once, and to the fullest.

"Emily, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Jake's going to be home any minute."

After the fight concerning the Chinese food almost a week and a half ago, the couple have had many others since then, ranging from something as trivial as who won the board game, to the basis of their relationship: how Aria had just came onto Jake like some lustful wannabe. They have yet to make amends, struggling, even, to be in the same room as each other. It was sad. Aria, many times, found herself crying late at night, cramming her face into the pillow to mute the audio of her tears, as Jake slept heavily on the opposite side of the California King Bed.

Although today, this morning, was different. Despite the bombshell that was Hanna's miscarriage the day before, Aria was, for the first time in months, in good spirits. Jake had awoken hours before her, and made a gourmet breakfast of Belgium waffles and fresh fruit, complete with the blueberry drizzle she loved so much. He then talked briefly of some grand gesture he was planning, and before too long, he had finished his breakfast and was out the door.

But not without giving his girlfriend a chaste kiss on the lips: a sweet vestige of physical contact, something Aria thought had already disappeared completely from their relationship, before he abruptly pulled away.

_"Mhm," Aria murmured, leaning into him and succumbing to her yearning. "I missed this." _

_"And I missed you," Jake responded with equal earnest. _

_She watched him go, loping down the hallway and into the elevator, feeling as though they had finally made up. _

Aria listened to Emily's goodbye, and hung up the phone afterwards, one lingering thought remaining.

During their conversation, prior to the A stuff, Aria and Emily talked reminiscently, about the good times in their high school years. There were surprisingly more than a few, what with the A drama constantly circling them like a spike-tailed halo.

At one point, Ezra was offhandedly mentioned, in talk of the girls' past relationships. She wondered currently, what he was up to now.

_Had he fulfilled his dream of becoming a New York Times best seller? Did he still live in Connecticut, the place where he moved after him and Aria had an unrepairable fight at her graduation? Was he seeing anyone? Jackie? _

Aria shook her head, refusing to think of him and who he may or may not be seeing, any longer. She owed it to herself, to Jake, to finally move on. Had she though?

Before she could ponder much more on the subject, the dulcet slam of the door jumbled her precise thinking.

"I'm home!" Jake announced ostentatiously, coming to wrap his arms around his girlfriend.

"H-hey," Aria greeted sheepishly, as if Jake could tell what, or more specifically, who, she had been thinking about.

"Now, on to the surprise!" His excitement reminded her of a little girl's, something no woman wants their boyfriend to be compared to. Aria cringed at her choice of metaphor and Jake apparently noticed as he asked, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she snapped, her sudden hostility taking her by surprise. "Nothing's wrong, just... continue."

"Anyway," Jake hadn't seemed affected by her demeanor, moving forward with no sign of fluster.

"Aria, all my life, I've dreamed of a time were I could have a love just like the one of my parents. When you came along, I just knew. It was so sudden, so unexpected, but you, like I, took it in stride. We got along great in those early stages, even more so as we got to be more serious."

"Then you moved in. I was so excited to get all of your stuff taken from your old place into my apartment. By the time I was finished in less than an hour - record time if I say so myself - I was sweaty and out of breath. It was then, standing there, in the kitchen, that I realized something."

"Those few minutes after I'd set down the last box, I just watched you. You were laying on your stomach, legs draped over the arm of the couch, engrossed in yet another novel. This one was long, four hundred pages at least, and you were already a quarter way through."

"You were slow about the process, not overly eager about unpacking the ten large boxes that was your apartment. You had said to me that day, "we'll do it eventually, we have all the time in the world." And you were right. We do have all the time in the world."

"True to your word, we did get those boxes unpacked and have been living together for three years now and as a couple for five. And yet, we still, despite the large sum of time that has passed, have all the time in the world. Time I want to spend with you, Aria, as my wife."

Jake paused, panting, waiting for his breathing rate to return to a normalcy.

He whipped through his speech, one that seemed to have been rehearsed a numerous amount of times, and now that it was the real deal, in front of her, it was as if he couldn't get it out fast enough. Aria hadn't even had time to react to any of what he was saying at the time, and because he finally stopped talking, she was able. "Jake, I-"

"Aria," he began again, before she could say anything with substance.

He got down on his knee and Aria's breath caught as he bestowed upon her the a beautiful, princess cut, diamond ring.

"Will you marry me?"

There was a series of reactions flitting in quick succession across her face and with each transition, her features seemed to change.

Shock. Happiness. Guilt. Sadness. Anger. Love. Lust. Hate. Fear.

Through the opened window, fresh air came through; the wind's chilled fingertips pawing at her face, further opening the cracks fragmenting her bottom lip. Blood trickled down its length, its color property luminous in the setting sun.

"I-" The air picked up again as she paused, the word caught in her throat.

_"Just say yes, Aria. It's one simple word."_

The blood from her lip, that had started down her chin, was now stilled, a dried spot of red, much like the bold streak through the soft pink of dusk.

Jake raised his eyebrow as Aria took a deep breath. "Baby, are you okay?"

He reached out to rid her chin of the blood, moving his meaty finger across her chin.

"Yes!" Aria blurted, scaring Jake some as he pulled his finger back. "What?" He was momentarily confused, and she could see why, as she made him wait so long for an answer.

"Yes I'll marry you!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck as he picked her up and spun her around. "Really?"

The fact that he needed clarification made her suspicious, but she answered anyway. "Really!"

As he spun her around once again, Aria watched the room spin. It reminded her of when she used to do star tipping back in high school. It reminded her of Ezra, when she convinced him to do it and he fell right as he looked into the light, unable to keep himself upright for even a second.

Ezra.

* * *

She felt as though she had fallen down, the carpeting tickling her back, much like the grass had, when she looked to the stars. Now though, instead of the twinkling constellations, all she saw was Jake's concerned face.

"Aria, oh my god, are you okay?"

Apparently, she had fallen. At some point after he had placed her back on the ground, she had fell, and hadn't gotten back up.

"Did I -"

"You passed out. But only for a second. Probably from shock. This is a big step, are you...are you ready for it?"

Aria nodded robotically as Jake helped her up.

_"What's Ezra going to think about this?"_

* * *

_**Author's Note: What IS Ezra going to think about this?** _


	9. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note: Another Chapter! Yay!  
**_

_**Hanna**_

On her desk was a conglomeration of pens, papers, folders, a breakfast burrito from Taco Bell that remained untouched, and mismatched hair ties in various tacky colors. As she continued to rifle through the drawers and contents on the desktop, in search of a specific file, she, in her fervor, knocked a picture from its stand with her elbow. "Shit," she grumbled, righting the picture for the fifth consecutive time that morning.

This time though, instead of going right back to looking for the seemingly lost item, she paused to glance at the photo, to revel in the happier time in which it was taken.

It was of her and Travis, their arms wrapped around each other, with their daughter, Paisley, in between them. Travis' left hand covered her own atop her burgeoning belly, and all three of them were beaming. Hanna sighed, finding herself close to tears once again. However, she gained some joy in remembering these occasions, if only for a moment.

* * *

_"Paisley! Wait a minute honey, mommy wants to take your picture! Can you say 'cheese!'?" _

_Hanna fought to focus the camera lens. It was zoomed in so close that the only image she could see was a section of blonde hair, although wether it was her's or her daughter's she was uncertain. "Ugh, Travis can you please help me with this camera!? It's impossible!" _

_Her fiancé laughed at her hyperbolic remark as he took the camera from her. After pressing a single button, and peeking at the lens for confirmation, he smiled. "Say cheese!" _

_Hanna was taken off guard, stumbling a bit on her flat shoe. The exclamation hadn't made her smile, which was its intent, and she frowned instead, the corners of her lips turned down in sudden aggravation. "No! Just give me the goddamn camera!" _

_She grabbed it from his hand, with a bit more force than needed, and turned to face Paisley again, who, by now, had gotten antsy and itched to go on the ride. _

_"Mommy pictures later please, let's go!" She tugged on her hand for emphasis and when Hanna wouldn't budge, she went to her daddy, who followed obediently. _

_"You spineless excuse for a man, we are not going on the ride just yet, and Paisley, if you keep this up, we are not going at all!" Travis was now rooted to his spot, halfway to the ride's entrance, as Paisley pouted petulantly, her bottom lip quivering. _

_Hanna stood her ground without a vestige of sympathy and positioned the camera on the tripod. "I've got the timer set, now let's -" The flash went off too early, its brightness blinding, making her inadvertently shut her eyes. _

_Taking a deep breath, Hanna went to the camera, inspected the photo - with a cringe - and pressed delete. "I fucking hate Nikon," she griped, attempting to reset it. During this time, Paisley had taken off toward the Farris Wheel again, and Hanna caught her just as she made it to the gate._

_"Paisley Samantha Marin! Don't you even think about taking another step." The little girl cowered, her previous resilience collapsing in the face of her mother's tone. "Okay, I won't," she replied, trudging towards Hanna and standing, as instructed beforehand, beside her daddy in front of the Farris Wheel. _

_Travis knew better than to interject, and play peace maker in these situations. Hanna, what, with her pregnancy hormones, was irascible, and having dealt with this type of behavior from her when he was eighteen, Travis had by now understood and followed the drill._

_"Okay, Han, let's just take a breath and come join us for the picture," he said now, wrapping his arm around their daughter. Hanna obliged, coming to stand on the other side of Paisley and throwing her arms around Travis. "Ready!" she chirped, her mood having improved dramatically within those few seconds. _

_"3..." _

_"2..." _

_Travis, last minute, just before the 'One' left Hanna's mouth, placed his hand on top of his fiancée's swollen abdomen, and she too, did the same._

_"Cheese!" Paisley called out, all three of them smiling as the flash went off. _

* * *

Hanna smiled sadly at the memory; at the way their engagement rings sparkled in the rich, yellow, glow of the sun; how Paisley, sweet, little Paisley, with her childlike wonderment, had asked if mommy had eaten her sister; and after, when Travis had shaken his head, 'no', and laughed, Hanna did the same, with their daughter's giggle a raging accompaniment.

A lone tear cascaded down her cheek, leaving behind a stain of continuing grief. "I CAN do this," she stated, as per instruction by Dr. Sullivan, whom she was still seeing.

_"Change your 'I can'ts' to 'I can'"_ she was always saying, patting Hanna's knee for assurance as she did so.

Hanna wiped away another tear that had escaped, soon giving way to full fledged cries. "I can't I can't I can't!" she bellowed, slamming her palm face down onto the desk in anger.

"M'am? Are you...um... Alright?"

Hanna looked up to find a handsome man staring down at her from over the counter, brow knit in genuine concern.

She blushed, a red hue dutifully creeping up her porcelain cheeks. "I'm um...yeah...fine."

She embarrassedly stumbled over each of her words, staring at her hands, as if they, petite and pale, contained her prophecy.

"Okay, now that that's settled... I have an appointment with Mr. Kinnerd."

Hanna daintily wiped her dripping nose and looked up at him, meeting his strikingly gorgeous coca eyes in the process.

"Caleb?" she blurted, covering her mouth immediately after, shocked by her own lack of manners. "I'm-"

"Uh, no... It's Drew, actually, Drew Sawyer..."

She left him hanging, too embarrassed to say anything else, and stood up. "Mr. Kinnerd said he wanted to meet you in the conference room, right this way." Drew nodded, following her direction as she sped off down the hallway and through a plate glass door marked 'Conference Room' in italics.

"Here we are," she said, her voice oddly high pitched. "And I'm um... sorry for the confusion earlier..." she mumbled quietly, never giving him the chance to accept her apology as she rushed back the way she came.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Oops... That was a huge slip up on Hanna's part... What do you think it means?** _


	10. Chapter 9

******_Author's Note: Things are about to get really interesting! Chapter's will be longer!_**

* * *

**_Spencer_**

The cluster of clouds moved in on the circumference of the sun, and within a few seconds, had it completely obscured, unable to be seen from below the density of clouds. Left in its absence, she sighed, the transitioning dismal chill did nothing to help her worsening mood. It was just shy of six o'clock - five minutes to - and Spencer was still at it, although, if she was being honest, her diligence was ailing, leaving her tired and grouchy.

Sitting at her desk fronting the large bay window that took up most of the back wall, Spencer had been working away for majority of the day, and as it petered out - the crescent moon superseding the hiding sun and breaking apart the clouds, cottony wisps getting lost amongst the inhabiting pitch - she grew antsy.

Spencer was awaiting her boyfriend's arrival because the sooner he got home, the sooner they could be on their way to Aria and Jake's. The couple only lived a few streets over, along the bustling Manhattan strip, but, with Spencer being who she was, it was imperative for them to be on time, early even.

A pair of headlights turned onto their street, and Spencer rose slightly from her seat, peering out the window to get a closer look at the car. It was a red Escalade and Spencer slumped back into her chair, beginning to doubt his previous promise.

_'I'll be home by six fifteen'_ he'd told her before leaving for the car dealership that morning.

She hadn't heard from him since, and was now a little worried. It was four now, where was he?

Spencer sighed emphatically once again, attempting to distract herself as she turned to the case file on her desk.

The case was originally her mother's, but due to an unforeseen circumstance - it was an ulcer but Veronica Hastings refused to let the firm know (lest she appear 'weak' was her reasoning) - she was forced into early retirement. So, like the good daughter she was, Spencer took on the case. Veronica hadn't told her much about it, just said that she'd be surprised, although, personally, her mother hadn't been.

Picking it up, her intent was to mull over it, memorize the facts - any glaring variables that may affect the case will be duly noted - and prepare for the court date in a few, short, months from now. However, as she opened the file to do just that, the name stamped on the first page of forms stopped her short. The ink was a stark contrast to the white of the paper, and Spencer felt her mouth go dry as she hastily shut the file.

She stood up abruptly, clambering to her feet as she knocked into the chair and almost tripped on it in the process, attempting to gain her balance as she reached for the desk and steadied herself.

"It can't be," she gasped, "I don't believe it."

There was a swelling in her chest as she fought to come to terms with this recent revelation.

She couldn't define this feeling for certain, but it was something warm. She read the name over and over in her head and that swelling grew larger; sluicing the waves of panic and exhaustion her inner voice possessed, dulling their frequency to a slurred hum.

"Toby... Cavanaugh..."

Suddenly, startling Spencer, a pair of lips softly brushed the cartilage of her ear. "Sorry I'm late baby," a voice breathed, the minty freshness that laced his words tickling the fine hairs of her ear.

"I- uh... It's fine." Spencer was still a little disoriented, but now, she realized, the feeling that had been pitted in her chest was gone and no residual effects remained. It was as if it never existed in the first place. Spencer shook her head, reaching over Andrew's arm to shut the file on her desk with subtlety. "Ready?"

Andrew moved from his previous position, standing now, at his full height as Spencer did the same. "Yeah," he answered, passing her a delicately wrapped gift, with a baby blue ribbon attached. "The engagement present. I told you I'd pick up something on the way home. It's a leather photo album, complete with the pictures you've taken of the couple over the years."

"It's perfect, Thanks."

Andrew stared at her with a glistening of self-pride, and leaned in. Spencer met him halfway and kissed him tenderly, pulling away after a minute. "We have to get going if we want to make it on time."

Andrew nodded and followed his girlfriend out the door, making sure to lock it behind him.

* * *

_**Aria**_

Aria's cheeks were becoming sore, stiff from the strenuous effort of maintaining a believable smile, of never once letting it falter. As she took the present from Spencer's waiting hands, she tore it open; the falsity of her gusto so transparent it was a wonder that nobody noticed.

"Aw Spence! This is so thoughtful, thank you!" she gratified, wrapping her friend in a hug as Jake leaned over to look at the at the album laying in his fiancées lap. "Look Aria, this was when you got your black belt, remember that day?"

When Aria turned to him, she saw that his gaze was trained on the photo in question, his eyes almost wistful.

Both of them wore matching grins, arms wrapped delicately around each other's waists. Aria's dark hair was falling out of her ponytail, draped over one shoulder. Her cheeks were red, and her face had a natural glow, glistening with excretion. Jake too, had sweat dripping from his forehead, his hair curling from the self-inflicted heat. They were both so happy, with Aria finally feeling as though she had maybe moved on. "I do," she answered after a beat, smiling up at him.

"Open mine next!" Hanna prompted, forcing the present into Aria's lap. Jake laughed. "Okay Han," she obliged, chuckling as well.

It was a onesie, pink in color, with the words _"my cuteness brings all the boys to the yard!_ in a dark cursive.

"Hanna! This is the most adorable thing I have ever seen!" Aria squealed, holding it to her chest. Hanna smiled proudly, "it's custom made."

Her glee wasn't present for very long, and her head hung in sudden, inexplicable shame. "Hanna, I can't," she said, thrusting it into her friend's palms. "This was for Abigail, there is no way I'm taking this. Please, keep it," she whispered, "I want you to."

"Aria," Hanna's voice was grief-stricken, small, "I want you to have it."

Your future daughter will look absolutely adorable in this little number," she added, her tone noticeably lighter.

Jake wrapped his arm around Aria, squeezing her shoulder. "Hanna's right, she will."

Aria's face blanched, as she grasped the article of clothing between her fingers. "Well, I - thanks Hanna. That's really sweet of you." Spencer gave her a look, noticing her odd mannerisms only now. "Ar-"

"I'm fine Spence. Thanks for your concern." Her tone suggested she was anything but as she piled all the gifts into a singular bag. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm incredibly exhausted, do you mind if we cut tonight short?"

Nobody objected, except for the confused grumblings that came from Jake - it's not even nine o'clock! - and immediately after everyone left, Aria claimed the flu and slept on the couch, alone, missing his presence, the one whom she gave up without a fight all those years ago.

* * *

_**Author's Note: What is Spencer going to do about Toby's case? Is she ready, after all these years, to see him again? And Aria, are she and Jake expecting? Would she even want the baby?**_


	11. Chapter 10

Hey I'm going to be deleting a chapter from this story, and I won't be continuing it for awhile. If you have a Tumblr, watch DWTS, and love Janel and Val, follow me at ultrafreakyfangirl Thanks!


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